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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986721">Our Endless Numbered Days</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/galimau/pseuds/galimau'>galimau</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Which means Christmas time to Alex Rider), Alternate Universe - Nuclear Winter, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Yassen is just radiating love for Alex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:40:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986721</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/galimau/pseuds/galimau</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With how many times he had almost been the instrument of the end of the world, Yassen should have suspected that one day someone would succeed. Most of humanity had gone but Yassen found a surprising amount left in him. His partner - blonde and mischievous and clinging desperately to the vestiges of what once was - helped with that. </p><p>So when a crudely wrapped present appeared under the pine tree on their land, Yassen wasted no time in finding one in return.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>AR Fic Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Our Endless Numbered Days</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/wewillalwaysenduphere/gifts">wewillalwaysenduphere</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Though this is anonymous for now, this is dedicated to my prompter. Thank you for the prompt and the inspiration - happiness in hard times is always important, but especially now. This was a joy to write and I hope you enjoy it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The end came with ash, and then rain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen hadn’t had anything to do with it, retired into anonymity for years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex had always thought that if there was going to be some catastrophic turn of humanity, that he at least would have had some hand in it, even if it was only that he had failed to stop the button being pressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, they were only bystanders. Just like everyone else. If there was anyone who knew why the world had ended, they weren't talking or couldn't be heard. Not that that was anything unusual - communications had been down since nearly the beginning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't the explosions that had done the world in, if he had to guess. Not really. It was the slow shambling decline afterwards, when the directions from the governments had first been impassioned but contradictory, then faltered, and then came to a damning silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a sympathetic light, it was because they were suffering in the aftermath too. Not many people took that view of events. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having had some experience with the type of people in charge of the world before, both of them were certain thathad simply slunk off somewhere to be as grey and unnoticed as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shambling halt to everything was hard to get through. People got mean when they were hungry. And for a while, that was all that anyone had been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But eventually, piece by piece, the rhythm of the world settled again.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The gift appeared under the small tree outside without much fanfare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen noticed the present only after his suspicions had been raised by Alex, who had taken to glancing at him with a smile curling the corners of his mouth that he didn't seem to want to admit to. It was an oddly joyful and oddly young expression, one that Yassen hadn't seen on his partner for a long time. Years, more or less, even though he'd stopped counting the particular days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even his sense of time wasn't very precise without something to keep it by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The seasons, the course of the moon. Yassen always wished that he’d had a better knowledge of the stars in this part of the world, but he made do with those that he recognized. During the summer, they blazed close and bright through the trees. No light pollution, no smog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now it was winter, and most nights were blanketed with thick clouds that dropped light snow or drizzled freezing rain. It made the days bleed together, unified in an impression of cold toes and trying to keep their few animals fed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Yassen's wits hadn't fled him when the world fell, and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a pine tree that had been stubbornly growing by their door. When Alex’s present appeared beneath it, the dots had been easy to connect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn't celebrated Christmas... ever. It wasn't encouraged in Russia when he'd been a child, and his life after that wasn't given to festivities of any kind. But it made sense that Alex would have happy memories of the holiday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd never remarked on it before, but for the first years of this new world, survival had been the only thing that any of them had been able to think of. The winter was dark and cold and worrying, and the only type of celebration they had been capable of was the tapping of frozen fingertips on the face of the other, laughing when the tease was met with a wrinkled nose or an affronted look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Times were hard, but it was the smaller things that pushed you through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That past spring, Yassen had found a press and old empty jars. It had been a windfall - preserved foods that were more than salted meat or dried fruits from the summer. Early spring was always the hardest time of year: after the food stores had run low and before the first of the crops they'd managed to plant came in, but all winter their stomachs had been full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was no wonder that Alex was in the mood to celebrate. After all, Yassen was in the mood to indulge him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All that day, Alex kept up his coy smile and the spring to his step as he split wood and tried to tuck more straw into the coop they’d built for the chickens. Yassen tried not to let on that he’d noticed anything unusual about the tree that had grown a lovingly wrapped package beneath it. That it had been made from an old pillowcase, tied with a belt, just made him more fond and more determined not to give up the game until he had something that he could give to Alex in return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, Yassen lay in bed, blinking heavy lids at the embers behind the grate and trying to think of what he might be able to find. Something that would make Alex </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The deep breaths tickling the hair on the back of his neck, the knee pressed between his, the settling of warmth that went past fires or blankets were gifts on their own, ones that Yassen gratefully received. He wanted to show it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Yassen tying on his boots before Alex had so much as stirred from his side of the bed. "I'm going out for the day," Yassen announced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mmmkay," came the sleepy reply, muffled into hands that covered his face as Alex sat up and tried to claw his way into wakefulness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen had to contain a smile of his own. Times changed more drastically than anyone could have expected, but some things were universal. Alex Rider had never been one who enjoyed rising before the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Alex scrubbed his hands through his hair to blink owlishly at him. "Direction?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Into town." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What remained of it, anyway. It hadn't been destroyed in the initial blasts, but time hadn't been kinder to most cities that remained. One part of the apocalypse that Yassen had never expected was how quickly nature would seep back in to reclaim what she could. He wasn't one to voice poetic thoughts, but sometimes he felt like there was a sense of spite to the vines as they climbed up and chewed down brick walls, the roots shoving their way through cracking pavement.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Look what you built. Look how easily I tear it down. Despair.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen had always preferred the countryside to the city but before it had been because of the crush of people and crowds of watching eyes. Now it was the emptiness of the windows that peered at him as he made his way through the streets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex woke all the way up, folding the blankets back and swinging his legs out of the bed. He’d taken to sleeping fully clothed as the chill set in and one sock had escaped him during the night. Yassen felt a horrible stab of affection watching Alex scowl at the floor before tucking his bare foot under his leg, perching on the edge of the bed and turning the frown on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a two-day trip.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shorter when it’s just me,” Yassen corrected, not bothering to mince words. No fault of Alex’s, just the advantages of traveling light and without trying to mind the safety of them both. No matter how capable Alex was, Yassen would always feel bound by a sense of responsibility to keep him secure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. One and a half,” Alex said, tone waspish. “You’ll still be out overnight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen nodded, even though it was a lie. His objective was closer than the city itself, but he was still taking his large pack. Plenty of bullets, the bars they’d made of acorn paste and animal fat and honey, and most importantly: room to carry anything he found while scavenging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex’s eyes slid to the bag in the corner, the heavy-duty boots Yassen had put on. A sparing resource in themselves, because if the rubber tread wore down replacing them would be nearly impossible. His expression quieted, recognizing the futility of any further protest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be careful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen always was. But that would be a flip answer when what he knew that Alex was really saying: </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘come home’.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” he said, firm. There was no question of that. Yassen wouldn’t do that to Alex - a poor gift indeed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex abandoned his lingering spot of warmth, coming to the doorway to wrap his arms around Yassen’s shoulders. He draped himself there for a long moment, cheek tilted to rest against the crown of Yassen’s head. When they’d first found each other, Alex had been growing like one of the weeds they pulled from the garden. All gangly limbs and new height that he hated for how it threw off his sense of balance and years of training. It had taken years of bumping against doorframes and tables before he’d grown into himself, filling out into the good bones his father had left him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That this meant he dwarfed Yassen was a perk Alex never failed to revel in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he stayed slumped against him, refusing to move, one of Yassen’s hands came up to card through the tangle of Alex’s hair. Pressing him closer, just for a moment. Breathing each other in before they parted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You be careful too. If anyone comes by…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>shoot them</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Yassen wanted to say. But Alex was stubborn about these things, even after all this time. “Don’t let them see where our stores are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex bumped his forehead against Yassen’s. “Yeah. I’ll be careful too. Promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was all either of them could ask for. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Even as far as it was, the path to the city wasn't hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Yassen made his way to the train tracks that cut through the forest, it was only a matter of following them into town. The tracks were clear-cut as any road, and less likely to meet other people. Easy to pick up a steady pace that ate the miles without putting him into a sweat, even under all his layers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the most part winter here was brown and cold. The heavy snow would come in later, nearer to the spring. A small blessing for this trip, meaning that he could walk quietly and leave no tracks to concern himself with. That it meant that there were also no tracks for him to follow didn’t concern Yassen. For once he didn't need to worry about hunting. It was usually his role between the two of them. No matter how quickly Alex had picked up marksmanship, Yassen was still an exceptional shot. And they didn't have the ammunition to spare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this was a trip for a more lighthearted quarry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought gave a lightness to the way Yassen surveyed the trees around him. The other advantage of winter was that with the trees all dropping their leaves he could see much more clearly. Right now, it was only the clusters of holly and pine trees that caught his eye. Speckles of birds who darted overhead chattering their distress at his passing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if there was anything else nearby, he felt content that he was the most dangerous thing in this part of the woods. A basic animal satisfaction in the territory he had claimed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite what he’d let Alex believe, the trip wasn’t going to be long. Yassen’s goal was something that he had seen a dozen times before and nearly always put out of his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The railway passed by only one station on the way into town, a ramshackle thing that was made up of weathered wood and paint that had probably been white. Normally, Yassen passed right by it, not wanting to shelter anywhere that a passerby might check. But he’d gone inside once before, when they’d first settled into their home and everything that could be found had been carefully measured up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Safe or dangerous, useful or forgotten. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The metrics of new life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back then, Yassen hadn’t thought twice about a defunct vending machine. Not until last night, when he’d been wracking his mind for something that Alex would well and truly enjoy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one final look around the tracks, Yassen stepped inside the station, heading for the back wall where the restrooms were. All paper and soap had been long taken out - some of it even by the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The machine against the wall looked like it could have been out of order even before the world ground to a stop - grime coating the inside of the plastic display, buttons worn down to shiny white plastic. It was still plugged in, but no electricity had set it humming for a long, long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen wasn't sure if the latch could have been picked, given how dark it was with old oil and collected dirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the best way past a locked door was to go through the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen examined it carefully, pressing on the plastic surface, feeling the faint give on the hinges. Wondering if he’d have to pull it over and gut it from the bottom after all. But he was in luck. The seams of the machine had been worn down and the plastic itself was brittle. Shooting it was his last resort, but the casing gave way to his tools after an hour of stubborn resistance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside was his prize - cans of soda, cold to the touch from the air outside and still mercifully sealed. The expiration dates Yassen was less sure of. But even a few years passed, the drinks would be safe. Sugar syrup and carbonation robed in bright, splashy colors. A relic of a time gone by, and despite knowing that he'd never liked the stuff, his fingers itched to crack one of the tops open on the spot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he carefully traced the gleaming cans. Not even dusty, kept safe in their vault. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen rifled through the rows of product, put there by some person who had no idea of the bounty he was leaving behind in the course of his job. The cans were compact and firm enough to fit easily into his pack, tucked inside as carefully as he could to protect them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five cans of Coke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something he'd heard Alex mention in the first few years of being together, when reminiscing about the world before, was a common way to pass the bitterest nights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three other cans, the flavors picked at random, were fitted into the other side to balance the weight. He would be back before nightfall, if his luck held.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The machine was put back together as best Yassen could, propped back up to be hopefully disregarded by anyone else. It was a small fortune for them, but one that would take some coordination to fully retrieve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the additional heft to his pack, Yassen set off with more energy than he’d had before. Up above, despite the weather he’d set off with and all his expectations of winter, the sky was a deep, distant blue. Only a few clouds scudded across it - high and wispy. Mare’s tail, he’d heard them called a long time ago. More recently, he’d known them as cirrus uncinus and used them as an informal measure when he was in the sky. His only form of freedom in his adult life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He missed it. But he didn’t long for it, not like he once would have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never thought of himself as a very creative person. There hadn’t been time or use for it with SCORPIA, and even figuring out how to manage his jobs or pull a good hit was more a type of problem-solving than any artistic flair. If anything, Cossack had prided himself on being practical to a fault. With the world slowed down, there was more time for his thoughts to fill in the gaps. Fitting into the space he had made, and through that new memories and small joys had emerged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a bad life that they’d carved out for themselves. Pared down to the basics of what they could make and keep, and letting the flailing remains of the world sort itself out. There were probably many pockets of people like them, all tucked away. Those who had waited for the worst years to pass and were now reemerging, poking their heads above the ash to crawl back into the sunlight. People were predictable like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Yassen thought about it, he was fairly sure that this life suited him better than the first world had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tightening down the straps, he set off towards his home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just before crossing what they’d come to consider ‘the border’ of their home, Yassen slipped the pack from his shoulders. One last treasure to complete the gift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shirt from the bottom of his pack, chosen as soon as he knew that he would be out finding a gift. He hadn’t known what he would be getting Alex, but this had been certain. Soft and obnoxious and always sure to make Alex grin when he wore it, the shirt made the perfect wrap for a present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen had originally found it years ago in a tourist trap that had managed to stand surreally untouched by the decline of the world. Yassen had never thought that he would be thankful for cheap polyester, but the fabric in all its multi-colored, floral glory had proven an unexpected blessing. Alex probably hadn’t noticed it missing, but this way Yassen got the satisfaction of surprising him with two things. The twine that he secured it with, all tape long gone by now, would be carefully returned to where he'd stolen it from their larder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting back on his heels, Yassen surveyed his work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lumpy around the cans and a little sloppy where the arms of the shirt kept trying to flop out from the folds. An eye-sore even with the low light diluting the colors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex, he hoped, would love it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, he set his present down next to Alex’s, safe under the pine tree. Maybe the cans could be turned into decorations. Cut into stars, or long spirals of metal they could hang. For the first time that Yassen could remember in either life that he was living, there was the flickering of excitement in his chest at the thought of the holiday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he pressed his memory, something about </span>
  <em>
    <span>twelve days</span>
  </em>
  <span> rang out. He’d like that. Something special, just for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Yassen stood up again, heaving in a breath through stinging nostrils and looking up at the sky for the last time. The clouds had moved back in, thin and sparse. A halo around the moon in the sky, ice crystals high in the atmosphere that promised a bitingly cold day in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A perfect day to keep close to one another.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Alex, for once, woke first. He had been long asleep by the time that Yassen slipped into their home, only stirring when the door creaked open. An obnoxious, irritating sound that they’d left alone because it served as a better alarm than anything else they had on hand. Yassen had called out their ‘all good’ signal and Alex’s hand left the gun by the bedside and then vanished back beneath the blankets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen had joined him only moments later, and found Alex already back asleep. Yassen had considered this person who had sent him on an unknowing quest, who he would have died for without question, and then stolen the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was paying for it this morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally, Yassen would have been thrilled to find his partner already awake. But after the long trip and late night, he felt entitled to a morning in bed. Preferably with Alex, who was more of a living furnace than anyone had a right to be. During the summer, Yassen had banned him from sleeping shirtless, because they woke up plastered against each other with sweat. In the winter, Yassen pulled Alex's arms around him like the warmest blanket they owned and tucked himself close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Losing that warmth for Alex to climb over him and poke the fire felt like adding insult to injury. When Alex brought down the pot to make ‘tea’, Yassen allowed himself a very upset noise. Unlike some people, he didn’t sleep well around movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What, you wanted to get some more sleep?" Alex asked with a grin that said he knew just how obnoxious he was being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen's arm, freed from the blankets to grab for Alex’s return, snapped back in. He felt like an affronted cat at the gesture, but he could barely believe his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex snorted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I slept most of the day. If you want to stay in bed for once, it’s not a problem.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Yassen wanted was for Alex to go outside for the day and see beneath the tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bring me some of that, and then we have to start bringing the wood inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex hesitated over the wood-fire stove, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His confusion was fair. Drying the wood was a job that had to be done, but there was no real urgency. They split and stacked and waited months before burning. They were still working through the wood they’d harvested two autumns ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen was already moving to pull his boots from the foot of the bed. “It looked like rain when I was out yesterday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex puffed out his cheeks and sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. But… can we do it later?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was when Yassen noticed the clutter on the countertop. Pots, yes, but also the insulated coffee mug that they saved for the mornings that neither of them wanted to crawl too far from the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those days that Yassen caved to Alex's wide brown eyes and the forlorn peeping outside their doors and let some of the animals into the house shelter with them. You wouldn't think that birds as hardy as what had managed to survive a near-apocalypse would be able to sound that pitiful, but Yassen was constantly surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex had wanted this day to be special. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes surprises should be savored. Yassen felt suddenly and utterly sure that this was not one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a present under the tree outside,” he said. “If you’d let me go get it while the water heats.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex stopped dead with his preparations. He nearly dropped the jar of dried sage and lemongrass that had been their tea since they’d learned how to keep herbs alive, turning on his heel to stare at Yassen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A present?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen blinked at him, trying to seem like he hadn’t noticed anything unusual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For Christmas. You got me one, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex’s hands started to tremble. “Oh,” he said, a little faint. “Then yeah. You should get those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen shoved his feet into his boots without bothering to tie the laces. Something he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d fussed at Alex about before. It just added to the pleased twitch to his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed past the birds demanding their morning feed, not pausing as he scooped the packages up from under the tree. It was as cold as he’d predicted outside, but for now the chickens would have to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had a holiday to enjoy, first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen considered the counter, and the table, but settled on the bed largely because Alex was already back on it, legs crossed beneath him and holding the mug in both hands. He held it out immediately, a smile lighting him up from the inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trade you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen accepted it readily as he kicked off his boots to an untidy stack and settled down as well. His knees brushing Alex’s, presents put into the small space between them. The tea chased any lingering chill from his fingers, and Yassen felt like the child he hadn’t been in a long, long time as he watched Alex examine his present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was just barely touching it, fingers trailing over his favorite shirt with something close to reverence, mouth open in a soft ‘oh’ of delight. The glow from the fire set his features radiant, and Yassen couldn't stop the thought coming through his mind that they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>lucky</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't something that he'd thought before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By happenstance or by some greater drive to the universe, the two of them had survived the mess of the world softly coming to rest. And they'd done it together. In a time when the survivors they’d met had stories of lost families and friends, companionship wasn't something to take for granted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen had been alone before. Had come to terms with it, or so he'd thought. Let solitude and his ability to stand apart from the world settle around him like the heaviest cloak because it meant that he'd been able to walk his path through SCORPIA untouched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The arrival of Alex Rider into his life in the form of one failed mission, nearly a decade ago, had been something that shook him to his core and had been, even with the barest edges of connection between them, something </span>
  <em>
    <span>worth </span>
  </em>
  <span>dying for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The realization that they would keep living had struck a note between Yassen’s ribs that reverberated through the small moments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eating together, burning the tips of their tongues on food pulled straight from the embers of the fire in the early days, blackened aluminium foil piled beside them. Watching Alex exclaim over how cute the chicks were when they hatched, and how absolutely foul the adults smelled. Times like right now, when Alex was lost in thought, staring at his present with a half-smile tilting his lips and warming his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I hope you enjoy it," Yassen said. "If they're any good at all, that is." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex didn’t seem to have words at that. He just nodded, unwrapping the fabric carefully. When the cans of Coke were revealed, he stayed very still for a long time, just staring at the shining metal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen took another pleased sip of the tea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They might still be carbonated. I know they’ll still be sweet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex looked up, eyes wide. His mouth was still open, but it was plainly searching for words, lips moving with nothing coming out. He looked halfway overwhelmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen wanted to kiss him. Wanted Alex to kiss </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Instead, he reached out as if to cup his cheek, and then bopped Alex on the nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex snorted with immediate indignation, face wrinkling up as he shook his head. “You’re in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mood</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said. But the raw look on his face had faded, and simple happiness took its place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A good one,” Yassen agreed. “Now hand me mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex looked suddenly shy. “It’s not-” he cut himself off as he set down the soda and passed the small, slim present towards Yassen. “I hope you like it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen gave up the tea, reaching for the belt quickly. Unlike Alex, he had no attachment to the pillowcase wrapping to linger over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside was a notebook. The simple kind, like something Yassen would have expected to see in a school. A tape binding and cardboard cover, yellowing and just barely warped at the edges. But the inside was completely empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen stroked one of the lined pages. How Alex had known he’d considered writing was beyond him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” His voice wasn’t strangled, and he kept his words simple. But he hoped - he </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusted</span>
  </em>
  <span> - that Alex would understand him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gift for the future. For having time and thoughts of his own. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>precious</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex shuffled forward on the bed until their knees weren’t just touching but overlapping. Pressing into Yassen’s space until he could press their faces together. Not in a kiss, but with Alex’s nose nudging into his, foreheads bumping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Always.” He was warm and alive and smelled like the herbal tea they were sharing. Yassen never wanted to move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He licked his lips, aware of the way it made Alex’s breath catch in his chest. “Merry Christmas,” Yassen murmured. Trying the words for the first time in years. From soft noise Alex made in return, he’d managed them just fine.</span>
</p>
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